Saving Sybil
by Erinjames
Summary: Set in the present day. Sybil is in and a chance meeting between her and Tom changes everything. She's from a rich family, his family are in Ireland. He's still recovering from his ex's infidelity and tries to save Sybil. But will she let him? S.C & T.B
1. Chapter One

**Chapter One**

Tom Branson hated queing for anything, especially coffee at Nero. The woman was old, wrinkly and looked like a battered shrimp. When he moved down the line he noticed that the woman in front looked sad. Normally at 8.35am on a Monday morning he was ratty, tired and too pissed off to talk to anyone let alone look at them (he always seemed to have an 'i'm gonna kill you' expression on a morning )but - when he noticed how sad this girl looked - he couldn't help smiling. She smiled back at him and gave her order to shrimp lady. _Irish Cream Latte? My kinda woman. _Being from Dublin, I loved a good Irish Coffee, but I had work at the office until 6 - _fuck! _It was Tom's turn to order, so he ordered my Coffee and when it had been handed to him, he left through the side door. Tom loved Ripon, he had to admit but he missed Ireland. The only thing that was the same here as it was in Ireland was the abysmal weather. Tom walked up Coburn Street and just as hewas about to turn left onto Hopheath Street, he noticed the Irish Cream Latte girl. She was being dragged by a tall, dark haired man. She was screaming, her Latte spilling out of the cup she had obviously squeezed so hard that the lid had fallen off. He could either leave it or do something about it. But he thought, if he left it - would he be able to cope if he saw her face appear on the 'ITV News at 10' with the headline 'girl found dead in back alley'? No way would he be able to handle that, so he walked faster and at that moment saw the man back hand her across the face. When Tom had got passed them, h decided to use the only force he knew to deal with nobs like this man - violence. He tore the lid off the top of his coffee cup, threw the contents into the man's face and - grabbing the girl's hand - screamed,

"RUN!" Which thankfully, she did. They looked around and he was falling to the floor, screaming and clutching his face. We ran until we were at the bottom end of Coburn Street - the opposite end of where we had been that morning, at the Coffee Shop - and then we stopped, panting. After a few moments, she looked at him and smiled.

"Thank you. For what you did." She said.

"I wasn't about to let him hurt you. Who the hell was he, anyway?" Tom asked.

"Oh my, you're Irish." She said. "And he's my boyfriend. I know, he's a nob. But my parents think the sun shines out of his arse. It doesn't." Tom looked at her and realised that a vivid red mark was appearing on her pale face.

"Yes, I'm Irish and yes, your boyfriend is a nob. You shouldn't be with him if he treats you like that." Tom said. He face turned sad and he added, "But, it's none of my business." She wrang her hands within one another and winced,

"OW! I think the coffee burned my hand." She said.

"You should get that seen to. Don't put it in cold water, it damages tissue. Put it in luke warm water and bandage it after you've dried it and put cream on it. Do you have anywhere to go where you can do that?" He asked.

"Yes. I'll go home." She said.

"But, won't he come looking for you there?" He asked, bemused.

"No. I live with my parents. He won't come because he'll have to explain why I have a burned hand and he's got a burned face. Thank you though, so much." She said.

"You really should leave him you know." He added.

"You should mind you own business." She replied. "But thank you again. Goodbye.." She held out her right hand that wasn't damamged, clearly asking for his name.

"Tom. Tom Branson." He said.

"Sybil. Sybil Crawley." She said. "You look as if you're on your way to work. I am sorry if you're late. Goodbye."

"It's fine, I work on Charlesworth Grove, just at the bottom of Hopheath Street. Won't take me long to get there." He said. "But you're welcome. And goodbye."

They parted ways but - when he turned around to have one last glance at her - he didn't realise that she had just turned away from looking at him.

_Sbyil Crawley? _Where had he heard that name before?

Well there was no time to dwell on it now because he had just five minutes to get to work, clock in, hand his reports to his boss, make a coffee, switch on his battered laptop and begin the report he was supposed to begin last night, but hadn't because his mother had once again lectured him on his lack of wife and children. He shuddered as he thought about it.

_"Thomas Brendan Branson. You are twenty-six years of age and when I was your age, I had two children and a lovely husband. You should be married and at least thinking of children." Una had said._

_"Well, I'd have a wife by now if Ethel hadn't run away with her fifty-three year old rich-as-fuck boss. As for children, I can't help that I have none. Would you rather I married someone I didn't love and have children that I wouldn't be allowed to see because we'd divorce on bad terms?" He asked her impatiently._

_"No of course I wouldn't.." She began but he cut across her,_

_"Well, there we are then. I promise you'll have grandchildren before you die." He said. "Goodbye mother." He had put the phone down and removed the line from the socket. He's have a dozen angry messages from her when he put the plug back in._

He reached work at precisely 9.00am and fifteen minutes later, he was waiting for his computer to load up.

Tom Branson was a writer. Well, a columnist. But he wanted to be a novelist. Not of a certain genre - like Cecelia Ahern was an Author of magic, love and happiness, or Martina Cole specialised in crime. He wanted to be the kind of Author that dreampt up a scenario and could write a book about it. He wanted to be known for his un-predictability. Not "Tom Branson pops out another crime spectacular" - not unless he decided to write a series.

No, Tom Branson wasn't predictable. He was Irish, gorgeous (though he didn't know it) and a bit cocky, but he was lovely, funny, would do anything for anybody and wanted more than anything to have what his Mother wanted him to have. Unfortunately, he nasty ex had seen to it that that wouldn't happen for a while yet. He had taken away his confidence, trust and self-worth - maybe he should write a book about that? No, too depressing. People would have him on suicide watch. No. He would write about something different.

_Sybil Crawley. _

Yes. That's it. I'm going to write about a girl called Sybil.

Now. What can the plot line be?

. x .

At 6pm, Tom made his was out of his office and towards the street leading home. He had come up with the perfect column story for work - violent relationships - but as for his story, he had only got as far as the Character's name - and the real Sybil was all he could think about. Those sad blue eyes - they were blue, weren't they? - made him feel ill to think about.

As he made his way up his street and into his three-bedroomed home, he noticed how lonely it seemed. He wanted to be with someone, not alone. Sure he had a cat, but she was as much of a tart as Ethel. Always having kittens, Poppy was. Oh well. He put some food out for her, put some simple jeans and a t-shirt on and settled down to watch _Emmerdale._

And the shit single life, carries on.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

Sybil Crawley found it hard to sleep that night. Not only was her hand throbbing, but her head was pounding. She had just been about to tell her parents about what James had done to her, when they had dropped the bombshell.

_"We want you and James to marry." _

The words rang in her ears as though they had only just been spoken, burning into her skin and staying there. She didn't know what to do. They thought it was a perfect match. She the beautiful (apparently) and talented photographer and daughter to the Earl of Grantham and he the Jobless, mean Duke of Crowbrough. She felt sick to her stomach. As she re-called the dreaded evening, she felt even worse.

_Sybil made her way down to dinner although all she wanted to do was spend the night in her room with her dog, Sapphire and Ben & Jerry Cookie Dough. But of course bloody American Mother had been persistant and her sisters - Edith and Mary - would be there, alongside her Grandmother, Violet. She arrived in the Dining room and sat down at her usual seat, the far end of the table. The Butler - Carson - was her favourite person in the house (apart from the Housekeeper, Mrs Hughes) and he sensed something was wrong. He would, as always, tell her that there was a phonecall for herand then, he would make her a hot chocolate in the kitchens and let her talk about whatever it was that was currently bothering her. At the moment the only thing bothering her was what her parents were saying and the prospect of spending the rest of her life with a man she hated and would never love. A man like James._

_"Wh-what? I don't love him." Sybil insisted. Her Father Robert looked at her Mother, Cora shocked._

_"Yes you do silly. You've been together for nearly a year. You wouldn't be together that long if you didn't love him." Her Mother said._

_"No, Mother. I'm only with him for you and Father. I hate James. He's a horrible, horrible person and I refuse point blank to marry him." She said. _

_"Oh Sybil, what now? How can he be horrible?" Mary said. Mary was the oldest and slightly rude and vain, but the middle sister - Edith - was kind and misunderstood. She gazed at Sybil and said,_

_"You're young and marrying young probably isn't the best thing but you both always seem so happy when you're together?" _

_Sybil didn't know what to say. She was worried of the trouble she would cause if she told her parents about what had happened that morning. They didn't even know that her and James had slept together. Well, they hadn't slept together. He had forced himself upon her, thinking that she was a virgin and he could 'make her his' but the truth was, she had had a number of secret boyfriends that had always ended when she was discovered to be the Daughter of the Earl of Grantham and his American Wife. Sybil wanted to desperately to tell the truth, but she also so desperately wanted an easy life. She could save some money and run away before there was to be a wedding. Yes. She would do that. That was quite a good idea. She was a good Photographer and June was coming up - the perfect year for a Wedding. She would make money, save it and run away. So she opted to lie to her family, put a brave face on and tell everything to Carson later on. Yes that's what she would do._

_"We had a nasty row about something earlier. That was all." She said. "I'm just annoyed still. Of course I'll marry him."_

_Robert and Cora looked visbly relieved, Mary rolled her eyes and Edith shook her head but Carson looked worried - very worried._

_. x ._

_After dinner, the Family were seated in the Drawing Room and Carson - ever the reliable man - claimed that there was a telephone call for her. _

_"I''ll get that then go to bed. Goonight." She said._

_"That will be all now, Carson. See you in the Morning." Robert said._

_"Very well, Milord." Carson said loyally._

_Sybil ran as quick as she could and waited. When Carson arrived he began to make her a hot chocolate and not until she began to drink it did he ask._

_"What's wrong, Lady Sybil?" She didn't hesitate to tell him the truth._

_"Oh, Mr Carson." She said. "This morning I decided to go to London to do some shopping. I know it's quite a way from Ripon but I left early and I wanted to buy myself something nice to wear at Edith's birthday party in August. Anyway, the train wasn't for another hour and I decided to go to the Coffe Shop for an Irish Cream Latte when I saw him. He pushed me into the fence and said I wasn't to leave Ripon unless he gave me permission. I ran away from him and I was upset. There was a man behind me in the queue and he smiled at me. He had lovely blue eyes and a kind smile and it re-assured me that everything would be alright. Then, when I have paid for and recieved my coffee I left the shop intending to go back to the train station but he dragged me away and I accidentally squeezed my cup, the lid coming off and coffee spilling onto my hand and scalding it. I screamed at him, he back handed my face and this young man came and grabbed my hand, runnng away with me to the opposite end of Coburn Street to what the coffee shop was on. He told me to put my hand under warm water, not cold because it would ruin tissue in my hand and dry it, put cream on it and then bandage it up which I did but Mother and Father didn't seem to notice. Anyway, he introduced himself as Tom Branston, I think his name was. He was Irish anyway. Then he said I should end it with James - though he didn't know his name - and went to work. That was that. But now I'm scared. Mother and Father won't believe me and he hurts me." _

_Carson had listened intently but when she had added then "he hurts me" part his eyes became sad._

_"In what way, my dear?" He asked._

_"Ermm, many ways. That's all I am saying." She answered, sipping her drink. It made her feel slightly better._

_"Well, he needed sorting out. But what will you do?" He asked._

_"Save up any money secretly and run away. But of course, he could find out." She said._

_"What if I saved the money for you? Or Mrs Hughes? He would never hear of it from either of us. We hate the little bugger anyways. Then when the time comes, you can have it back and do whatever you wish." He told her._

_"Would you really do that, Mr Carson?" She asked, her eyes swimming with tears._

_"Yes I would. Now, how's your hand?" He asked. "And this lad that helped you. Did you mean Tom Branson? Works on Hopheath Street?"_

_"Thank you so much. Slightly better, thank you. And yes, that was him. Why do you know him? He's been in my head all night. I don't know why." She answered eagerly._

_"He's works for the son of a friend of mine, Evelyn Napier. He's a Journalist and a good one at that. His ex girlfrend ran off with Napier's business partner. Nasty business." Carson said._

_"Oh how awful He seemed so lovely." She said._

_"Well, why don't you pay him a visit? He could keep you safe and so could Napier. You could earn a bit of extra money working with him, being a photographer for the paper. How about that?" She grinned and hugged Mr Carson, kissing his cheek._

_"YES YES YES I would love it. Thank you so so much. What is the office called?" She asked._

_"I forget, but I can ring tomorrow and find out. How about that?" He suggested. _

_"Yes, that would be brilliant. Thank you so much." She said. She yawned and added, "I should probably go to bed, I'm knackered. Thank you again."_

_"Goodnight, dear. Sleep tight."_

Now - at 3.25am - Sybil felt bad. She hated lying to her parents and dragging Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes into the ghastly business, but if she ever wanted an escape route what chance did she have, really? No. She would simply bide her time, do as she said and up and leave.

Though James had warned her that he had spies everywhere and that it didn't matter how secretive she was, it didn't matter what she did to prevent him discovering things, he would find out and then she would be "royally fucked."

God, he sounded like someone off a bad Hollywood Movie. Though it still sent shivers down her spine.

. x .


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

"Mr Carson, may have a word?" Mrs Hughes asked. Carson looked up from the accounts and nodded to Mrs Hughes to come into his office.

"Is everything alright Mrs Hughes?" He asked.

"I could ask you the same thing. I've just seen Sybil and she had red eyes, like she'd been up all night crying. I asked if she was alright and she told me to ask you, that you'd explain."

Mr Carson had been waiting for this. He and Mrs Hughes had watched Sybil grow up, had been there the night she had been born. They were often called an 'old, married couple' and he agreed. She was like their daughter.

"Very well Mrs Hughes. Come on in and close the door. You aren't going to like this though." He said.

She did as he asked and in the next fifteen minutes he told her everything Sybil had told him. She was in tears.

"Oh our poor girl. Why on earth would he do that to her?" She asked.

"He's a nasty human being." Carson answered. "She wants us to look after any money she saves, so he can't find out she has any saved. Would you be willing?"

"What do you think?" She asked, drying her eyes. "But he knows how much she earns?"

"I'm going to speak to my friend, Napier and ask if she can work there. A young man that works there helped her." He said, adding, "His Lordship shouldn't make her marry anyone unless she wants to."

"I agree but it's not out place to do or say anything, least of all to give our opinions on the subject. All we can do is help Sybil." Mrs Hughes said.

"That's correct. Now I should probably get on. I's 9.15am and his Lordship wants waking up once I've made this phonecall." Carson said. He nodded to Mrs Hughes and follwed her out of his office. He made his way to the small telephone in the open-office and made the call he hoped would help Sybil.

. x .

Sybil left the dining room after breakfast at 11am and was greeted by Carson giving her a slip of paper.

"He says you are to go see him today and talk to him. That's the address there. Good luck Sybil." He told her.

"Thank you so much, Mr Carson. See you later." She said. She ran to her room, put on her jacket and boots and left the house.

She had a feeling as though she was being watched, but then decided that she was just being paranoid. She pulled her jacket up higer and made her way to Ripon Centre.

. x .

Tom sat staring at the screen. He was now to work with a woman named Sybil Crawley. Correction _Lady _Sybil Crawley. Bloody hell. She hadn't looked like a lady. Then again, he expected Ladies of Society to be like they were in the 20's. Unhappily married to a man who probably had lots of Mistress', lots of children they only saw at meal times and bed time, a large house where they only used one room and servants at their every beck and call. Maybe they were a bit nicer and more down to earth these days? Bugger knows. Well, either way she was a Photographer and would be working with him. Though how he was supposed to tell her that she was helping him on an article ragarding domestic violence was beyond him. He could change it, but his boss - Napier - wouldn't allow that. No, he would simply tell her he decided on the subject for his article long before he met her. Yes, she would believe that because she had no reason not to believe that. _The fact that she herself is a victim of domestic abuse would imply that she may not believe that. _

He glanced at the clock; 11.26am. She would be here soon apparently. No chance to check his sure-to-be gross appearance and no chance to have a fag (he could have sworn he'd given that habit up) so he just had to wait until she arrived, where he could get worked up like he usually did around lovely looking girls.

And - just at that moment - she arrived.

. x .

She made her way through his one-man office and was introduced to him by the Receptionist, Jenna. Sybil smiled and said,

"Hello, again Tom." Jenna looked blank.

"Oh you know each other?" She asked. She was young, blonde and had been chasing Tom for ages but he wasn't interested in someone rumoured to have a night job as a dominatrix. She looked unhappy.

"Yes, he's my night in shining armour so-to-speak" She said, winking. Tom - acting more confident that he actually felt - winked back and stood, shaking her hand.

"Hello again Sybil. No, sit down and I'll let you know what's going to happen while you're working here with us." He looked at Jenna and added, "That'll be all Jenna." She tut's and walked away, heels wobbling.

"She fancies you. Should have heard her talking about you. She may as well have said "I want to do him now" that's how obvious she was being." Tom outright laughed. "She asked if I had a boyfriend, which clearly meant "leave Tom he's mine" so I told her I was a lesbian. She seemed okay towards me then."

And that was it. The ice was broken.

"So, what made you want to work here?" He asked. She looked worried all of a sudden.

"Erm, didn't your boss tell you?" She asked.

"Only that - and I quote - _Lady Sybil Crawley will be working with us for a while, for personal reasons and will be working especially with you. That okay, Branson? - _and then his telephone rang, which was my queue to leave. But your boyfriend won't be happy about me working with you will he, seeing as I poured my Coffee on him yesterday." He told her.

"Oh, so you know I'm a lady?" She asked. "And no, he probably won't."

"Just that it's your name. That's all I know. But don't worry, I won't ask questions it you don't want me to. I'll just be the words to your pictures." She smiled at that.

"The Earl of Grantham is my Father. My Mother Cora is his American Wife, the Dowager Countess Violet is my Grandmother and I have two elder sisters - Mary and Edith. That's it. Your boss knows my Butler, Mr Carson and we have a Housekeeper Mrs Hughes. I live at Downton Abbey." She told him.

"You know you didn't have to tell me the truth." He said. "You can tell me what you like. Although I'd rather know if you're a serial killer." They both laughed loud at that.

"No. You helped yesterday." She said seriously. "I've come to work here, because my boyfriend James' Father works for a bank and can check what wage I get. So, if I have an extra job that he doesn't know about he can't ask what I've spent it on and ask questions. I'm going to get paid by cheque and give it to Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes alternatively." He looked confused.

"I don't understand." She looked at him hard.

"My Parents want me to marry James, so I've accepted but I plan to run away." She said. "Save some money, start over, there we have it. My parents won't listen to me so please don't ask why I haven't told them. He's a slippery shit and can get away with anything."

Tom was speechless.

"Well, I don't like him." Tom said when he finally found his voice.

"So what are we doing an article on?" She asked. He had hoped this would wait, but she had to ask him now.

"Domestic Violence." He answered.

"How imaginative." She laughed, then turned serious. "But how do we capture that in photographs?"

"I don't know, but..." yet he was interrupted by Sybil.

"Simple. We could make up a story. Get actors, like a story board. You can be the word to my pictures." She said. He grinned.

"That's a great idea. But where the hell do we find people to do THAT?" He asked.

"The street, obviously." She said. "Come on."

Tom knew there and then as she handed him his suit jacket and dragged him out of the office wearing a beautiful smile that he loved her.

. x .


End file.
